


essayer de dormir avec un cœur brisé (trying to sleep with a broken heart💔)

by orphan_account



Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [18]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: 3AM, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, I Love You, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, Late at Night, M/M, Sad Timothée Chalamet, Whump, art imitates life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Timmy can't sleep.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087184
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	essayer de dormir avec un cœur brisé (trying to sleep with a broken heart💔)

After moving into the brownstone, Timothée stopped sleeping with Armie.

On the surface, at least for the first couple of nights, it wasn’t too drastic or noticeable. Having two four poster single beds made it necessary for them each to sleep in their own bed. 

His separation anxiety and fear of sleeping alone was alleviated to some degree by the fact that their bedrooms were right next to each other on the second floor, connected by a spacious bathroom that had a shower, toilet, and spa tub.

As he lay awake at night, staring at the lights from passing cars bouncing off of the popcorn ceiling, Timothée took some comfort knowing that he could walk through the bathroom and go into Armie’s room at any time. 

He counted the lights until the trazodone he had been prescribed took effect and he fell into a deep, though not dreamless, sleep.

Far from the passionate, warped sexual fantasies he used to have - the kind involving chains, whips and, on a few occasions, bizarrely, binder clips - Timothée began to have more sedate, saccharine dreams. 

He and Armie walking through Belmont, their fingers entwined. Armie in an apron making blini for breakfast, while Timothée sat at the kitchen island reading The Boston Herald. He and Armie playing Uno when, suddenly, Armie grinned and reached across the table to kiss him. It was all suddenly bland and boring, hardly something to write to Penthouse about.

During the train rides to and from the set in Boston, Timothée started to wonder if he was simply starting to finally ‘grow up,’ if he was settling into the ‘regular, boring domestic life’ that Bubbe had occasionally, at his request, described as having lived with his grandfather Harold, who had died long before he was born.

Or rather, maybe he was trying to settle into the ‘boring domestic life’ that he wanted to have with Armie. The more Timothée turned the idea over in his mind, the more distressed he felt. At this time in his life, wasn’t he supposed to want to be sowing wild oats, living footloose and fancy free?

After a series of brief flings and one serious relationship, he didn’t know if he was ready to ‘settle.’ Still, Armie had said that Timothée was his, and he could not imagine a life without him.

Timothée hated how all of a sudden he couldn’t seem to bear it when Armie touched him, how he flinched when he even reached out for him. After their confrontation, part of Timothée had been aroused by Armie’s angry aggression. Hell, the very next day he'd let the man carry and cuddle him, he had kissed him.

And then, as if his mind had finally caught up with his body, he felt... _traumatized_ , for lack of a better word. He had known Armie for nearly five years. In all of that time, he had seen him irritated, annoyed, angry, but never outraged. It was entirely understandable but, as Timothée had said, it was not alright.

“Timmy? What are you doing up so late?” Armie yawned and rubbed his eyes as he stood in the doorway to Timothée’s room. “Don’t you have to get up really early?”

“Yeah, I have to catch the 7AM train. I’m just...thinking.” Timothée covered his mouth and laughed awkwardly. “Dammit, sorry. ‘Monkey see, monkey do,’ kind of thing. I guess. What are you doing up, Armie?”

“Oh, you know. I’m thinking, too. Maybe I should see a doctor about getting some stuff to help me sleep. I guess yours isn’t working too well, is it? I better make sure not to get the same stuff.”

“Mm, it usually works. It can only do so much. It’s an antidepressant, so its main purpose isn’t to help with insomnia. It’s just an added bonus.”

“It's a what? You’re taking an antidepressant?” Armie’s brow furrowed in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp. “I didn’t know that.”

“Shit.” Timothée sat up and slowly dragged his hand down his face. “I mean...yeah, Dr. Fields prescribed it to me at my checkup. I know you’re listed as my emergency contact, but you’re not privy to every little detail in my...file.”

“Or in your mind, apparently. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind, Timmy. I just wish you would tell me these things. It makes me feel like you don’t really trust me.”

“ _ **I do**_.” Timothée winced. His breath came in shallow, shaking gasps that verged on a sob. 

“I do trust you, Armie. You really want to know what Dr. Fields said? Why she prescribed me an antidepressant? She gave me this little questionnaire and concluded from my answers that my little stunt on New Year’s was a subconscious suicide attempt. I guess it really was a way for me to punish you. See, apparently I had planned to hurt myself, and then when I was in the hospital - if I survived - my plan was to sign paperwork barring you from coming in. Is that fucked up, or what?”

Armie’s eyes widened. He took a slow, tentative step into the room and held out his hand. 

“That’s...Timmy, is that what you were actually thinking, or did she plant that idea in your head?”

“I don’t know! I mean, all I knew at the time was that I was angry, and I didn’t want to feel that way, I wanted to numb it, so I drank. A lot. And I did something beyond stupid, but I don’t think I did it on purpose. Why should that be any different than what happened the other night? Dammit, Armie. If there’s one thing I’ve learned for sure this year so far, it’s that neither one of us can hold our alcohol very well. And you’re _huge_. You must have drunk enough liquor to fill an Olympic size swimming pool.”

“Yeah, nearly.” Armie crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

His lips half curved in a sarcastic smile. “I don’t want to go into too much detail, but it was a pretty trying day. Between getting calls from lawyers, paparazzi wanting me to comment, my PR team telling me not to comment, and then to have you literally look that stupid bullshit up and shove it in my face...I lost it.”

He shrugged and laughed bitterly. He rolled up the long sleeve of the Boston Bruins T-shirt he was wearing to reveal the indent of Timothée’s teeth, shadowed with tiny greenish yellow bruises. “It looks like you lost it too, for a minute there.”

Timothée moaned as he felt himself slipping down into Armie’s net again. He didn’t really believe in the supernatural, but if he did, he would swear that Armie was a sort of fallen guardian angel, sent to guide and protect him, but also to corrupt and pull him toward the shadows. “What are we gonna do now, Armie?”

He stared at the set curve of Armie’s jaw and his mouth as he waited for him to speak. It had been easy at the time for Timothée to tell Armie that he ‘wasn’t going to live like this anymore,’ to try to dismiss his own actions, sexual or not, as just being done ‘in the heat of the moment.’ 

It had been easy for him to say in a moment of fear and uncertainty, but Timothée was just now realizing the magnitude of what he had said, the depth of what he had fallen into.

Armie slowly walked to Timothée’s bed, his palms held out in front of him. He stopped a few feet from Timothée and reached out to lightly touch his hair, brushing his fingers tenderly over his cheek and lips.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go grab some melatonin and some water and hopefully get some sleep. You have to get up to get the train in four hours. Sure you won’t arrive on set fresh as a daisy, but that’s why they hire makeup artists. Get some sleep, Timmy. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”


End file.
